Not Myself
by Riverdancer17
Summary: Post TRF. 'I've never lost hope like this before. I just can't be myself...' He's struggling to cope but what lengths will he go to? Not what it seems! possible triggers, depression!fic. Johnlock eventually
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I know, I know, I'm sorry, I really should be updating A Piece of Cake but this plot bunny hit me over the head and then scribbled over my maths homework, shouting 'WRITE MEEEE!' Please please please tell me what you think guys.**

**Lily**

**19****th**** October**

I screwed up my eyes in pain as that woman threw the curtains open.

'Good morning Mr Watson!' she trilled, cheerily. I turned over and buried my face into the pillow in annoyance

'Morning...' I mumbled.

'Breakfast will be served at nine, and then you have a doctor's appointment at eleven, alright?' she smiled falsely 'Oh and your friend Mr Holmes will be here a little later.'

I hummed, not really interested, everything was always the same here, so why did she insist on telling me every single day? I swung my legs over the side of the bed and leaned over to grab my cane, the nurse must have been a new one because she immediately picked it up and handed it to me.

Big mistake. I snatched it off her, glaring at her for good measure and wrenched open the door, asking her to leave without a word. I think she realised what she'd done wrong, since she only blushed before scurrying out. I slammed the door shut behind her and sank back down on to the bed. Honestly, I was here because I apparently couldn't take care of myself, couldn't anyone in this bloody place let me do anything?

I dressed painfully and walked down to breakfast, dreading the day ahead. Same old shit, every single day. The morning passed in typical fashion, the doctor tried to make me talk about... about Him again.

'John, it's not good for you to just keep everything inside all the time...'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'But you have to...'

'I don't want to talk to you!' I snapped.

He sighed, like he does every time and propped up a mirror on the table 'Tell me what you see John.'

I smirked humourlessly 'The same thing I see every time you do this.' I stared at my close-cropped dark hair and blue eyes in the mirror. 'I see Dr John Watson MD, what did you expect doctor?'

And every time he sighs and tries to get me to open up. I didn't.

And then Mycroft. It was him who insisted I came here, it's him who makes me see the doctor everyday, so, naturally, he visits me about twice a week. It's always awkward. We've only ever had one thing in common. He's always sat in the left hand armchair by the window in my room and he's always, somehow, got a cup of some expensive tea.

'Hello John.' He said quietly. He hesitates before he says my name, like every time. 'How are you today?'

'Fine, thank you.' I replied shyly, staring at my hands. We made embarrassed small talk for a few minutes like we always do, he seemed sad every time he said my name, like every single day. Then he stood up and squeezed a hand on my shoulder. I thought it was funny, he'd never done that before.

'John, I'm... I'm going to bring someone tomorrow. Here I mean. To see you. Will that be alright?' he smiled. He's much more familiar with me than... than before. Strange really.

**AN: So, I know that was horrible, but it will get better, I promise. Review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Wow! Thanks for the response to this story guys!**

**Lily**

'I... I had another dream about... Him last night.'

'Can you tell me about it?'

'I... I...'

'It's OK if you don't want to. These sessions are for you to talk through what you want to...'

I grind my teeth in frustration. Why doesn't he understand that it's not that I don't want to? I can't. I just can't. Why doesn't he understand that seeing the man on the pavement frightens me? Why does he always try to get me to talk about it? It's always the same, every time.

I don't know what happened. When I got here, they told me that I tried to take my own life, sometime last year. I don't know why or what for. I don't know why they found another man up on the roof that I jumped off with his brains blown out.

What I do know is that when the police showed me his photo, I nearly broke my chair in anger. And I was frightened, but not frightened for me. That's the weird thing. It was like I was frightened for someone else. I don't know, I... I just felt this stab of fear like something was going to happen to the person I loved...

Which brings me on to the man on the pavement.

I don't know who he is.

I don't know why he's there.

I certainly don't know why he is crying as he stands there looking up at me, but he is. It's always the same and I can't understand it. It frustrates me no end.

I hate it. I hate not being able to remember what on earth would drive me to try and do something as drastic as killing myself.

The doctor is talking to me again 'John, what are you thinking about?'

I pull a face and stare out of the window, Ignoring him again. I'm tired of being asked how I feel about various aspects of day to day life. I don't want to talk to him about what I'm thinking about anyway. He doesn't listen and when he does, he doesn't care. He's too busy thinking about how to hide his thirteen year old daughter's pregnancy from the neighbours. Obvious from the clinic leaflet in his breast pocket...

I blink. Where did that come from?

'Look, John. We're here to figure out why the Big Incident happened, so can you remember anything? Anything at all?'

I continue to stare out the window. I can remember something. I'm not going to tell him what it is though. I take a shuddering breath as I think about it.

I can remember a phone conversation. Someone talking to me over a mobile, screaming and begging me not to do it.

Baring in mind what I see every time I dream about it, I know who's voice it was.

At that moment a nurse opened the door. 'Mr Watson, your friend is here to see you. He has brought a new visitor, that's nice isn't it?'

Patronising bitch.

**AN: Please review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Bored. You get this.**

**Lily**

I wander along beside the blonde nurse to the rec room. She is speaking in the bubbly tone of psychologists everywhere, telling me about my visitor. As it is Mycroft I'm going to talk to who visits just about everyday she shouldn't have anything to tell me. Unfortunately, it would appear she does.

I manage to zone her out long enough to get into the room and nod my greeting to Mycroft. He nods back at me and glares behind me at the nurse who is lingering suspiciously in the doorway, obviously hoping to pick up a bit of gossip. Unfortunately, as she seems impervious to the Mycroft stare, this one was either hardy or new.

'Nurse Wilson, I don't require your presence.' Says Mycroft frostily

Nurse Wilson draws herself up and glares at Mycroft haughtily 'Mr Holmes, Mr Watson is at a very crucial stage of his treatment and as you seem to wish to...'

'Oh get out.' Snaps Mycroft 'She's waiting for you.'

The nurse colours and her eyes open wide 'Wh-what on earth do you me...'

Mycroft raises his eyebrows staring at her for a few seconds. Suddenly she squeaks and runs out. 'What did you do to her?' I ask, watching in confusion as she runs down the corridor outside the room.

Mycroft brushes some non-existent lint off his clothes serenely as he crosses his legs 'Oh nothing.' He says casually 'She was sensible at least.' He stares at me again for a few minutes 'Listen John, do you remember I told you I was bringing someone to see you today?'

'Yeah, I'm depressed Mycroft, I don't have amnesia.' I snap irritably. Oddly, as I say the word amnesia Mycroft flinches and looks away. Suddenly I feel guilty, Mycroft is obviously upset. God knows what about, but apparently it's my fault.

'I'm sorry Mycroft.' I sigh uncomfortably, I cannot understand why the man is so upset by my refusal to talk to him 'I'm just... I hate it here Mycroft. It gets me down.' I snort indelicately 'This place is full of morons.'

I frown. Where did that come from? And suddenly Mycroft is looking at me with what looks like hope in his eyes. It's gone in a flash though.

'Well, maybe you won't be needing to stay here much longer.' He says, almost to himself as he runs a hand through his hair, before looking directly at me. 'Look... John, since you're making such good progress... I've brought this person to see you... this is against your Doctor's advice you understand...'

He's simply filling time as he crosses slowly to the room's door. He opens it and calls a name I can't hear. I can hear a sound that I hear everyday... the sound of a stick hitting the floor. A shadow moves across the doorjamb, before a figure appears in the doorway.

What I see has me backed against the wall, crouched almost underneath a chair, breathing heavily in a state of utmost panic. I can feel Mycroft's arms around me, I'm panicking, the fear that's gone through me at the sight of this slight figure is absurd. I can still see him in the doorway, standing staring at me with tears rolling down his cheeks, in a pose I know so well.

It's the man on the pavement.

**AN: I think everybody's worked out what's happening here so kudos! A level psychology brought this on. Please review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: It's half term, yay!**

**Lily**

'Mycroft... Wh-who w-was that m-man?' I ask. I finally managed to stop shaking after about a quarter of an hour.

'He knew you. Before you... before.' Says Mycroft from behind me, he is sitting in the armchair across from me, quite calmly looking back at me. It makes a change. I've never seen him look so scared as when I was backed up against the wall, gasping for breath. 'He wants to talk to you.'

'W-why?'

'Look John, you need to talk to him. He was... he meant great deal to you. Before.'

'But he was the man on the pavement.' I whisper. Mycroft looks at me with pity in his eyes, I flash him a glare and wipe the tears off my face. How dare he pity me?

'John, he isn't what you think. He's a good man, he had nothing to do with the Incident.'

I shut my eyes and turn away from Mycroft, tears trickling down my face 'I can hear someone screaming at me in my dreams. It's him, I know it's him Mycroft...'

'Maybe he isn't saying what you think Sh... John.' I sniff and grit my teeth. What on earth is he going on with? I know what I hear every time I close my eyes. I hate the way he's trying to manipulate me and bend me to what he wants to do. I know its kindness and concern that makes him treat me like this and force me to stay here, but I can't help but feel that it's all for his gain eventually. That's how it's been for as long as I remember with him.

I turn to look back at him, resolving to change the subject 'What's his name Mycroft?'

Mycroft smirks gently back at me 'His name is John.'

I know that he's seen the flicker in my eyes when he looks up at me over the top of his glasses, somehow it fits the man I see in my dreams and the man in the doorway. However much I feel that they are the same man, I know that they are not. The man in the doorway had more grey in his hair, more lines on his face and is a great deal thinner than the man in my dreams. Somehow I feel that I have caused these changes. I couldn't tell you why. Or, indeed, how.

'A coincidence.' I say shakily, still refusing to look at Mycroft.

Another flicker across his face. Was he always this telling? 'Perhaps. But maybe...' A cough from the doorway makes us both turn sharply. The nurse from earlier is stood there, standing firm just outside the doorway, arms crossed and face puckered up like she'd been sucking on a lemon.

'Mr Holmes, I really don't think that you should be talking like that at this stage of Mr Watson's treatment.'

Mycroft stares at her for a few minutes, she didn't even flicker. 'I apologise, Nurse Wilson. I believe I will trust your judgement.' He caught my eye and whispered 'He is outside John, desperate to talk to you. Please see him, if only for a moment.'

I take a deep breath and close my eyes again. My hand tightens on the handle of my walking stick and I look at him again.

'Alright.' I whisper.

**AN:**** I'm sorry this is moving so slowly guys, please review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: So Hey.**

**As you will probably have been wondering, I am not, in fact, dead. However national competitions, A levels, Tumblr, friends, Tumblr, babysitting and Tumblr happened.**

**So I apologise.**

**Lily**

I tap my fingers nervously against the arm of my chair, looking nervously at the man across from me. As soon as his eyes meet mine I flick my gaze to the fireplace.

The man takes a deep breath 'Hello.' He says.

I bite at the skin on my left thumb and look away again 'H-hello.'

'I've missed you.' I snap my head round immediately at the warmth in his voice and I nearly flinch back when I look into his eyes again. The fear and feeling therein scares me, but not quite so much as the hopeful tears brimming at the bottom of hazel irises. More than anything I am scared at the surge of recognition I feel when he looks at me like that.

'My- my friend says that your name is John.' I mumble and look away, embarrassment (definitely not anything else) flooding my face heady pink.

He looks shocked at the mundane choice of topic 'Yes. A strange coincidence.' He titters nervously and then clears his throat, obviously embarrassed. We sit in awkward silence for three or four minutes, before I tear a strip of skin off my thumb through nerves. The smarting pain makes my eyes water.

John gasps and catches my hand 'Oh Sherlock look what you've done, let me...' He looks at me, a question in his eyes. Because I am sat, frozen in shock, staring at him and trembling slightly. '_What did you call me?'_ I hiss in shock.

John is looking at me in confusion 'What did I call you when?'

'Y-you called me... S-sherlock.' I explained, trembling worse now. The mention of that name has done something terrible to me. It has left me with a feeling of deep despair and panic. Like the feeling I get every time I see the Man on The Pavement in my dreams, but stronger. So much stronger.

John has blanched. Even his lips are white and he's opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Even that causes ripples of remembrance to chase through me. 'I-I... It means nothing... I know someone called... I mean...'

'No.' I whisper, blinking my eyes rapidly and staring down at my trembling hands, so odd. The mind should be in control of the body, and yet the mind is so often betrayed by that of which it should be in control... 'No. That name means... means something to me.' I almost choke as a sob takes me slightly by surprise.

John is beside me instantly, taking my arms in his hands and gripping tightly.

'Please...' he is saying calmly 'Please look at me... You need to look at me.'

I comply with difficulty. He is looking at me earnestly. 'I have to tell you something. I wanted to do it the moment I found out you were alive... Mycroft said it wouldn't be good for you... So I'll tell you now, You are...'

'_Mr Watson that is quite enough!'_ I hear the shriek from the door. It's the bitch nurse, back again. I watch tiredly as John is almost forced from the room by two nurses and I am lead back to my room, by a woman who is talking in that slow, soothing way they teach them when they get employed here.

...

Four hours later I am back in my room, lying on my bed.

I look into the mirror across from my bed and watch the tears roll down my face.

For almost three years every time I have looked into that mirror I have seen the face of Dr John Watson MD. Now I am unsure of what I see.

Who am I?

**An: Please review.**

**In Memory of Lewis. God rest you.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Happy Children in Need to the Brits in my audience! I went to college dressed as a British MI5 agent who needed to blend in with some Somali pirates today for charity (the theme was pirates and ninjas) **

**I must apologise for both the horrible pace and confusing nature of this story. I think everyone's all caught up, yes?**

**Lily**

Lauren finds me two hours later, stretched out on my bed, having exhausted myself sobbing.

I cannot say I like her, but I suppose she is my favourite of the incompetent morons that seem to permanently inhabit the place, because she is sympathetic and doesn't try to make me talk when I don't want to.

She sits on the edge of my bed and lays her hand on my back, starting to rub circles there gently 'What's up chuck?' she asks kindly in her broad Yorkshire burr.

I open my mouth to talk but all that comes out is an embarrassing sobbing noise. I turn to her desperately and almost wail 'Please Lauren. Tell me who I am.'

Rather than the false surprised look or the quick denials that I am anyone but John Watson that I would expect from any other nurse, Lauren's shoulders slump and she rubs a hand over her eyes, suddenly looking tired. 'I've been wondering for a while when you would ask that question.' She says softly. 'I knew it was only a matter of time. That brother of yours said...'

'I haven't got a brother.' I say automatically, that, at least, I know. I am sure I would recognise my own flesh and blood.

Lauren smiles sadly 'Yes you have. Your friend who comes to visit you, his name is Mycroft Holmes yes?'

'Yes but... he said he was my friend before the incident... I never...'

'And yet every time He comes here you spend the days leading up the visit whining about what boring company he is. Would you have made friends with someone you find boring?'

'Well... no but...' but then I think back. To every conversation I've had with Mycroft, the sadness in his eyes when he calls me John, the occasional allusions to things I cannot remember, things I had assumed were from before my Incident but I now realise had all happened to a different person. And then I know who Mycroft is.

'Mycroft Holmes... Am I a Holmes too?'

Lauren stands up suddenly, looking scared 'I don't know if I should be telling you any of this... I haven't talked to the psychiatrist or anything...'

'Just tell me my name, Lauren.' I suddenly feel confidence that seems familiar, I suppose it's the person I was coming back to me. It feels as if it has been a long time since I was that person.

'I've said too much already...' She hisses, but she's weakening I can see it in her face, in the indulgent look she's now giving me. Sometimes she looks at me like I'm her own son. I will find the story behind those looks, but not today. Today there are more important things.

'Please. Just my name, it's a basic human right...'

Lauren turns away and for a moment I think I've lost her before she turns back and whispers 'Your name is Mr Sherlock Holmes. Now please don't ask me anymore questions.'

'Sherlock...' I repeat. The word feels strange and familiar at the same time. But the shape is pleasing in my mouth and I almost snort at how ridiculously poetic that sounds. I turn to find Lauren trying to make her escape.

'Wait!' I call, as she makes it to the door. She turns and looks at me, expecting something. 'Can I see that man again... John?'

She sighs and rests her forehead wearily on the doorframe 'Sherlock...'

'Please Lauren. I need to see him. He'll help me I know he will, please make the psychiatrist believe he will.'

'Why are you so certain of that?' This time it is me who looks away, almost embarrassed.

'He means something to me Lauren. I know he does... He's there in my dreams and when I met him... I can't describe it, but I know he was something to me. And he will be something to me.'

I hear Lauren mutter something that sounds suspiciously like 'You don't know the half of it, Lad.' Before she looks up at me with a long suffering expression and sighs, as she is wont to do. Suddenly, she smiles and takes my face in her hands. 'I think you've suffered enough Sherlock. I'll see what I can do.'

I smile fondly at this most excellent woman. 'Thank you very much. Very much indeed, my dear Nurse Hudson.'

**An: Mrs Hudson always seemed like a Lauren. Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**An: My dear mother and sister are watching 'It Takes Two: Strictly Come Dancing' or some other such vacuous crap on the telly.**

**I'm sick of it so you get this**

**Lily**

I clench my fingers at the smug smile on the Nurse's face.

'What do you mean I can't see him?'

The lipstick-tinted smirk grows a little and her eyes gleam with pleasure 'I'm sorry Dr Watson...'

'That's not my name.'

The smile freezes and her face goes wooden 'That is the name you are registered at this clinic as Doctor Watson, so, until I am told by a duly recognisable authority, it is the name that I will call you.'

I grind my teeth as I realise she is trying to provoke me. 'I want to speak to the psychiatrist.'

That at least wipes the painted on grin off her face.

'I'm sorry, that's not possible Dr Watson.'

It is my turn to smirk now 'Surely the doctor is here at the convenience of his patients? He is only here to help us after all.'

Nurse Whatsername flares her nostrils and breathes out sharply 'Dr Watson, you cannot see the doctor because he is with a highly difficult patient who rather take precedence over yourself. You cannot see... Mr Holmes' friend because he has not been briefed on your condition...'

'Do you not think that it would be good for me?' I ask loudly 'I am constantly around those who know everything about my condition as you call it. I believe according to the psychodynamic approach one should be exposed to what one fears?'

At this latest she goes white with fury. I allow myself a secret smile. They _hate _it when I quote psychology at them.

'Dr Watson. I haven't got the authority to permit you a visit by your friend. I am very sorry. Dinner will be served in your room tonight I think.' She sweeps out of the room, banging the door behind her.

...

Ten minutes later I am fishing around under my bed for my 'memory box'. It is a small pinewood box that was given to me by the psychiatrist when I first came here for 'memories and special things'.

In reality it contains all that I value in this world.

Namely, my mobile, a small list of phone numbers and, for some reason, a deerstalker. Mr Holmes gave it to me the first week I came here, when I couldn't stop crying, and for some reason it calmed me.

It is not the deerstalker that I am looking for however, it is my mobile and the list of numbers. Another gift from Mr Holmes but this one was only given to me about a week ago. It hasn't had a chance to prove itself useful as of yet but I have a definite need of it now. I choose the first number on the list and lean against the door, listening for that bitch nurse coming back.

Suddenly the dial tone stops sounding and I hear a voice in my ear. As I hear the smooth tones I have to remind myself that Mycroft really is my brother. I smile and adopt a wheedling tone of voice 'Brother dear! How _are _you...?'

...

I am lying on my bed at four o'clock the same evening, watching the patterns made by the setting sun on my roof.

I smile and roll over as I hear the nurses outside, talking to grown men as you would a small child. They think they've beaten me.

I flick my thumb across the screen of my phone and read my newest text, just for the novelty of rebellion.

_John will be at La roux café, Winchester at eight o'clock tomorrow. Don't be late. MH_

It sends a shiver down my spine at the thought of what I am doing tomorrow. My phone vibrates again. I furrow my brow, I wasn't expecting any more correspondence tonight.

_Help him regain his hope, Brother. Please._

I only hope I can.

**AN: Again, I must apologise for the pace of this.**

**I had no reviews on the last chapter. C'mon guys!**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I know, I know. I'm genuinely not dying but I was dreaming up ideas for this chapter all night last night and I knew that if I didn't write them down I'd immediately forget them.**

**Have a nice day!**

**Lily**

In the morning though, I find that I needn't slip away after all.

Mycroft has procured me an evening pass, no doubt by devious means, and I find myself in the back of a cab heading for Winchester at seven o'clock. I have grabbed my precious phone and one of the stashes of money that Mycroft gave me a week ago, but the endless plans and preparations can't distract me from the fear coiling in my belly.

I have no idea where the cafe I'm meeting John in is, but my phone has been suspiciously enabled with GPS. Presumably Mycroft wants this meeting even more than I do.

I find it without much difficulty, and almost freeze as I see John through the window.

The shop bell goes as I step through the door, John's head snaps up as soon as the door opens and I give him a shy smile. He smiles too, but it almost wipes across his face, like he is smiling to himself instead of me.

'Hi.' He says as I slip into the seat opposite him.

'Hello.'

'... So your brother really wants this to happen, right?'

I smile again 'Evidently. Although, to be perfectly honest it was me who really wanted this meeting.'

I fiddle with the napkin in front of me as he stares at me in shock.

'Really?'

'Umm... yes. I... I wanted to ask you some questions.'

'Oh.. um...' he almost looks disappointed 'Well, what did you want to know?'

'I already know my name.'

'Oh. So I can call you Sherlock?'

'As it happens, yes!'

...

Two hours, four lattes and a chocolate muffin later, I am informed that I am Sherlock Holmes, I live at 221B Baker Street, London, I work as a detective on a consultancy basis and that I have a few friends on the force, all of whom are wondering where I am.

'And... who are you?'

'I'm...' he's avoiding answering the question, turning as a waitress comes over to ask if we want anything else. She's not really interested, she thinks she's just doing this job until her husband gets another job, little does she know he has no intention of getting another job... and after what John has just told me these random episodes of knowledge make considerably more sense.

As John turns back to me, his left hand goes up to run through his hair. I can't help but notice the flash of gold.

For some reason the sight of the little glint on his left hand sends a flash of fear through me, like having a bucket of cold water over me.

'You're – you're married?' I squeak out the last word and clench my hands on the tabletop. John stares at the ring on his left hand, as if he's just noticed it.

'Yes. Yes I am.'

He smiles at me, as my heart sinks inexplicably 'What's she like?'

He snickers slightly under his breath and smiles good naturedly when I quirk an eyebrow at him. 'He.' He explains at my confused expression.

'Well, what's he like.'

He looks at me for a long time, his eyes seemingly misting over. Just as I think he's about to leave, he looks down into his lap 'He's dead.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. He was wonderful when he was around. We weren't very affectionate but... he could just... when I told him how great he was, he just looked at me like... like I was the only person that mattered. I loved him very much. I still do.'

I smile, even though I'm on unfamiliar ground 'Did I know him?'

He looks up, a hint of amusement in his eyes 'Yes. Very well.' He looks at his watch, and smiles at me again 'I have to be going to work, I have a shift at nine.'

'Yes, of course.' We smile once more at each other- This is getting repetitive- but on an impulse I grab his wrist as he stands up.

'Your husband. What was his name?' I look up into shocked brown eyes 'Just... so I can remember.'

John has gone very pale and is opening and closing his mouth, seemingly fighting with himself 'My husband's name was... Sherlock Holmes.'

And then he leaves before I can stop him. Breaking my heart.

**AN: :O Who expected that?! I didn't. Please review.**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: I am loving writing this at the moment!**

**Lily**

'You lied to me.' I hiss as the man enters my room quietly. I am sat on my bed, back facing the door with my eyes closed, thinking.

He sighs, he sounds tired 'I didn't lie to you Sherlock, I merely... withheld information.'

'Information that I had a right to know.' I snap, striding towards him and stopping about three inches short of his face. Mycroft holds my gaze for a few seconds before looking away.

'I didn't think you would be able to handle that level of...' he begins hoarsely

'Jesus Christ Mycroft!' I explode, turning away from him and starting back towards the window 'All this time! You could have told me at any time, but you chose not to. I agreed to see John because I thought it would be good for the both of us, and now I find that I have been killing this man every time I see him. And I have been doing that to him.'

'Sherlock...'

'He is my husband!' I rap out harshly. Mycroft falls silent. 'You've been visiting me for almost two years. You couldn't find five minutes to tell me that I have a husband in all that time?'

He opens his mouth before smiling wanly 'Sherlock, I understand that you are upset but...'

'Have you any idea what he's been going through?'

'Yes! Considerably more than you!' Mycroft shouts, anger flashing in his eyes.

As shocked as I am by my brother's sudden outburst, I latch onto his last phrase 'What do you mean? Why do you have considerably more idea that me what he's been going through?'

For the second time today Mycroft's eyes meet mine for a few seconds before dropping to the ground 'I simply meant...'

I laugh sharply, bitterly. I am angry now. I am angry at everyone for believing that I need to be hidden away from the world for my own good 'Don't give me that bullshit, Mycroft. You are going to tell me what you know, and you are going to tell me now.'

He looks up at me, and I am surprised to see tears in his eyes 'What do you want to know?'

I smile. I will never tire of hearing that phrase.

...

An hour later I am sat in my chair with my head in my hands.

'Why would I do that?' I whisper. The news Mycroft has just imparted has shocked me to the core.

'You had to.' He replies simply. My brother's countenance has schooled itself back to his usual carefully neutral face. 'For John and for your friends.'

'But...'

'You had no other choice, Sherlock.'

I take a deep breath and lean back in my chair 'How long was I married?'

Mycroft smiles humourlessly 'Before the 'Fall' as the newspapers took to calling it? Seven weeks. Hereafter, I cannot say brother. If John's behaviour is anything to go by, I... don't know how long your marriage will last.'

'Not even two months...' I mutter, choosing to look at my faded bedspread rather than my pleading brother. 'What do you mean you don't know how long the marriage will last?'

Mycroft sighs 'I suppose it was a vain hope that you wouldn't ask that question.'

'Really Mycroft, how dull.' I say experimentally. I see the ghost of a smile flicker across my brother's face.

'When you... died, for want of a better word, John died too. I have never seen a man react so... fully to bereavement. For the first few months he refused to believe that you were dead, he kept saying that you wouldn't leave him, that you always took him everywhere. And then...'

'And then what?'

'He... disappeared. I watched him go to bed one night, the next morning he and most of his clothes had gone from London. His passport was still in the drawer and his wallet was in your key bowl but it seemed he'd left the country. Probably on a false passport, but I decided not to stop him, I authorised the travel of 'John Watson' wherever he went in the world and didn't hear from him for nearly a year. And then three months after you lose your mind...' I flinch, I hate that phrase. '... He phones me from your old flat. Behaving like he'd never been away. He hasn't spoken of you since. Not even after I brought him here.'

I am silent. I have never known grief like it. 'Where did he go?'

Mycroft shrugs 'I don't know. Nobody does. He won't talk about it, he just says he was 'travelling'.'

'I have to save my marriage.'

Mycroft snorts. 'Why? You barely know the man, you can't still love him.' He looks into my face 'Well do you?'

'Yes. No. I don't know...'

It's the truth. I honestly don't know, but I just have a feeling that I need to save this. Save this marriage, this relationship. From the way John reacted to my 'death' we were very much in love at one time.

Like my brother says, I must help him regain his hope.

Or spend the years alone.

**An: Angstyyyyyyyy... and LONG! Anyways, please review. Maybe some ideas of how John reacts to Sherlock next time they meet?**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Ahaha! So many updates!**

**I'm not dying I promise. Thank you to ginnygirl87 for her suggestion, since this is based off of it.**

**Lily**

I am finding that it is not as hard as one might expect to break out of a government sponsored mental health institute.

I simply pull my coat on, turn up the collar and walk past the front desk. I glance into the office as I walk past and see that the seventeen year old technician is spinning around in her chair with an extremely bored expression on his face.

As I walk across the front lawn towards the gates, I find that the secret seems to be walking around like you own the place. I am not challenged once and make it to the gates.

Fools. The gates are just ordinary iron gates, there's not even a key card system. I scoff at Mycroft's faith in me, before slipping through the gates and down the road.

After breaking out of the institution, getting to Winchester train station and finding a train to Kings Cross is incredibly easy. I find a seat on my own in the carriage and bring up google maps on my phone. Baker Street is only about two miles from Kings cross, and since I don't have much money with me, I decide to walk. My phone is vibrating insistently, almost certainly Mycroft, and I ignore it because he is annoying.

I sit back in my seat and close my eyes, not before glaring at the teenager carrying a dancing back across from them. I stay like that for the hour and a half that the journey takes.

...

I stand at the bottom of the stairs, nervously.

I'm positive that I have John's address right, but still I am reluctant to go in. I take a deep breath and walk up the stairs, pressing my finger to the doorbell before I can chicken out.

A muffled voice shouts 'Coming!' through the door, before I hear the thumping of running feet and the catch of the door turns.

It is John, and I'm glad, because I have psyched myself up and it would have been an incredible anticlimax to bear my soul to some random stranger. However, I find that my preparation is all in vain since my long eloquent speech floats out of my head to be replaced with a shy smile and 'Hello John.'

He is staring at me, but I can see something flickering in his eyes and I am delighted to see that it looks like hope. He blinks, surprising me and manages to keep the wobble from his voice as he says 'Well. You'd better come in, I suppose.'

...

I wander round the flat that apparently used to be mine. Everything reminds me of something, even the smell as I walked in the room. As far as I can remember nothing has been moved.

As if he can read my thoughts John quietly says 'Nothing's been changed.'

I smile back at him and quirk an eyebrow, silently asking him for permission to look around. John simply shrugs and gestures around the room. I am already wandering around, something catches my eye.

It's a photo frame. It's silver and very simple, it seems like John's taste. But what has really caught my eye is my own face. That's all there is in the frame. It's a shot taken by someone, it looks like at our wedding, from the buttonhole in my lapel. A shot take from the shoulder up, I'm leaning against something that looks like a tree and looking down, laughing. I am purely shocked by how happy I am.

I pick up the photograph as John walks up behind me. 'It's the only photograph I kept of you. I couldn't bear to throw it away.' I look into his face, sharply looking away when I see the tears in his eyes. 'The only one I couldn't throw away.' He mumbles.

I swallow the lump in my throat and turn back to him 'Look John, I'm so sorry... I never imagined...'

'I know, Sherlock' he says quietly 'And you left me and I accepted that you were never coming back. Then Mycroft told me you were alive and I allowed myself to hope, do you have any idea how hard that is?' he sniffs hard, but he's not shouting or anything. In fact he sounds bored. 'I allowed myself to hope and then you didn't remember me. I cried so hard that night Sherlock. Because you were alive but you weren't my Sherlock. You still aren't.'

He turns away, but I refuse to let him walk away from me again. I catch his wrist and he looks back over his shoulder 'Then help me be your Sherlock.' I say between gritted teeth.

He looks me up and down doubtfully but, when he finally meets my eyes, he nods slowly 'OK.'

**AN: Enjoy! And review please.**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: I have:**

**-2 biology tests tomorrow**

**-a chemistry test on Thursday**

**-My A level biology mock next Thursday**

**-My A level chemistry mock next Friday**

**And still you get this. I think this is testament to how much I love you all.**

**Lily**

Mycroft shouts at me for twenty minutes. And when he is done, he collapses back into my armchair and accepts the tea that John quietly places by his elbow. I have never seen my brother cry before and the few tears that lie on his cheeks convince me that he genuinely is worried about my well being.

When he is slightly less purple he just turns to me and says 'Why?'

'I need to learn. Keeping me cooped up isn't going to help that.'

'Sherlock, considering your history I hardly think that you are the person to decide what is and isn't good for you...'

'And considering your waistline, I wouldn't trust you to make that decision either.'

I don't think anyone is more shocked by that comment than me. John is staring at me, frozen in the door of the kitchen and Mycroft is coughing into his lap, having inhaled almost his whole cup of tea. The tension in the room only grows, I am about to apologise when John starts giggling. To my very great surprise, Mycroft joins in after a moment. I stare back at them baffled.

'Perhaps Brother, you are right.' Mycroft chuckles, wiping his eyes 'I will accept that I deserved that. And I will accept your decision to stay here with John.'

John grins at me.

...

I stare at the computer in my lap, looking in confusion at the website on the screen.

'What is this, John?'

'It's your website. You directed me here when I met you. You were always very proud of it.' He replies, the ghost of a smile on his face.

'But... this is ridiculous! How on earth can anyone tell an airline pilot by his left thumb? This has to be a joke.'

'It's not! You wrote every word. And I've seen you in action.'

'What do you mean? Seen me in action doing what?'

'With the police. I've seen you do it. Look, see if you still can.' He steps back slowly, opening his arms and lifting his chin up. 'Look at me.'

'I don't...'

'Come on Sherlock, really look. See what you can see.'

I scrub at my face 'Look John...'

'Don't look. Observe.'

Something in that triggers a memory in my mind. And I look at him. And see. 'The tread on your shoes is slightly worn down, you've been walking everywhere because you're nervous about cabs for some reason, I don't know why but I've seen you hesitate whenever one passes you in the street. Nothing you're wearing is younger than two or three years old and they are all colours that you wouldn't necessarily choose. You don't go out a lot and someone else has been buying your clothes for you. Your wedding ring is clean. You obviously wear it regularly, there are several heavy nicks in the metal, but it's shining. So you clean it, you... you still feel attached to... to the person the ring is attached to... um.'

I look away, feeling divorced from the fact that the 'person' is me. John is standing there, looking pale. Suddenly, he licks his lips and smiles shakily.

'Amazing.' He sighs and runs a hand through greying hair. 'I... uh... I need to... go and... yeah.'

'John, I'm sorry...'

'For what?'

'It was... a little insensitive. I am sorry.'

John sits down and sighs 'You don't know what it's like. Because I remember you how you were. I remember you working cases and shouting at policemen. I remember you being rude to Mycroft, like you were a moment ago. But the overriding thing that I remember is you throwing yourself off a building before my eyes. And I still love you, you git. I remember you loving me and I can see it in your eyes that you don't anymore and that's ok, because I know you can't remember me or anything about our life together at all. But I keep holding out hope that you will one day. And that's the hardest thing.'

And then I make the biggest mistake of my life. I looked away.

And, for the fourth time, he walked away from me. He always runs away.

**AN: Please review. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know it's boring, please review my dears.**

**Lily**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: I'm very sorry for not reviewing my dears.**

**Writing this feels a little weird as I am currently watching Nativity featuring Martin Freeman, so...**

**Lily**

I am surprised at how willing he is to walk away from me.

I find this out over the course of the few weeks I have been in 221B.

I patronize him, he walks away. Shout at him, he walks away. I say something I know will hurt him, he walks away.

I don't know why but it frustrates me no end. I watch him walk away almost everyday and I could scream. I don't know what I want from him, perhaps I want him to beg or cry or just stay with me and realise that I am lashing out because what he feels for me frightens me.

I know that he still loves me, I can see it in his face every time he walks away. It would be easier if he did scream and shout and blame me for everything. It'd be easier to make myself believe that I don't owe him anything.

Mycroft really isn't helping. Every time he 'drops by' he stares between me and John and sees the problems and the arguments with one glance and he knows that it's all falling around my ankles.

He knows that I should have stayed at that god forsaken clinic and only met John when the bloody psycho-babble spouting quack determined that I was at the correct 'stage' of my treatment. He has his doubts. I let him have them.

The pressure begins to get to me, so during an argument with John I snap at him that he doesn't understand and never will. But when he turns away from me and it fills me with fear that he might walk away again, so I catch his arm gently and force him to face me.

'I'm sorry' I mumble, feeling slightly guilty.

He stares at me silently for a second or two before, very slowly, he reaches up and pushes one hand gently through my hair. I have to fight desperately hard not to flinch away from the gentle touch. 'How did we come to this, Sherlock?' he mutters, his hand has moved to my face now. 'Why did you have to be so stupid? Didn't you think about what it would do to me? Did I mean that little to you?'

Then suddenly, his eyes go hard and he composes himself, pulling his hand out of my hair with stinging speed and laughs cruelly 'I don't know why I'm asking you.' He sneers 'You're nothing but a stranger.'

For some reason, that wounds me deeper than anything he has ever said to me before 'I don't know what you're talking about John. I'm Sherlock...'

His frosty glare has made me nervous and I stutter into silence. His hand darts forward and grabs a handful of my hair and painfully forces me to face him head on.

'You are not my Sherlock.' He hisses directly into my face 'My Sherlock committed suicide. He threw himself off a building. If you were him, you'd be able explain why.' He sneers 'Can you?'

Desperately I try to squirm away, to break his hold, anything so I can get him to talk about this _and stop him pulling a chunk of my hair out..._ I shake my head. He chuckles bitterly again 'I thought not.'

He drops my head and I stumble back onto the sofa as he storms upstairs. I run my hand over the new painful bruise on my scalp.

I never thought he was capable of anything like this.

I suppose everyone has their breaking point.

**An: Review. Please.**


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: I am very sorry for the long gap between updates. I am afraid college is to blame. And then I got writers block and... yeah.**

**There is Mystrade in this chapter**

**River**

I hesitate before raising my hand to knock at the door. I would never come here voluntarily under normal circumstances but last night's events have forced my hand.

My brother opens the door, and I see the smug taunt die on his lips.

'I have no time for silly games.' I mutter, staring resolutely at my shoes 'I need your... help.'

To his credit, there is no baiting, no mock-disbelieving raise of the eyebrows, he simply steps to the side and allows me through his front door. I enter his living room and stop dead.

There is a man sat on the sofa, silver haired and dark eyed. He meets my eyes and I see something flash across his face before he looks quickly away. The momentary glance I get convinces me.

'I know your face...' I whisper, as the man resolutely stares at the wallpaper. His face brings back memories of pathology labs and running through the city in the wee small hours... and a frightened face on the floor as I put a gun to someone's head...

A policeman. He's a policeman.

My brother enters the room and lays his hand gently on the man's shoulder. The man is shaking slightly 'Sherlock, this is Gregory Lestrade.'

Lestrade. That name... 'Mycroft, what is he doing here?'

'What am I doing here?' Lestrade explodes, throwing off Mycroft's restraining hand 'What are you doing here? You're supposed to be dead!'

'But what are you...'

'You shouldn't even be here!'

'Lestrade, I don't even...'

'Enough.' Comes the calm voice of my brother, sitting cross-legged in his armchair.

Lestrade turns on him seething 'Myc, what are you even doing, bringing him here? He ended my career, he doesn't deserve our time!'

'He is also my brother, Lestrade.' Says Mycroft's cool voice.

'Right.' Lestrade snaps in his face, turning away from him 'You do what you want, Mycroft. But I'm not going to... What's that on your face?'

My hand flies to my forehead, to the violet bruise blooming on my temple that I had noticed only this morning. 'That's... actually what I need to talk to you about.'

Lestrade has frozen in front of me, eyes drawn to the blemish 'What caused that Sherlock? As far as I can see, only someone...' Mycroft's eyes flicker up to meet Lestrade's.

'Sherlock, what happened?'

'John... I said some things that cannot be excused. And he... snapped.' Before I know it the whole incident is on my lips. When I am finished, both Lestrade and Mycroft are looking at me, silently.

'That's why I need your help.' I say.

'Why don't you just leave him Sherlock?' Asks Lestrade, looking at me with confusion in his eyes. My brother is sitting very straight in his chair, face pale with pink patches in the cheeks, clenching and unclenching his hands.

I look down at my twisted fingers and then back up at the two men across from me. 'John stood by me when I couldn't even remember who he was. I made him believe that I had committed suicide two months after we married. Don't you think I owe him something?'

'Yes but not...'

I whip around to face my brother, feeling the anger coursing through me. 'I owe it to him to at least apologise for making him angry Mycroft. So help me god, I am going to try and save this relationship. Don't you dare try and stop me.'

...

As I exit the flat I hear a whispered conversation.

'Gregory, he's going to get himself killed!'

'Myc.' Lestrade's voice is soothing 'Adversity either strengthens a relationship or destroys it. Don't you remember how it was with us? John and Sherlock have been through so much together. If it's meant to be, it will be, alright?'

I snort slightly at the blind faith and then wince at the realisation that I too must entrust my future to hope.

It's not easy.

**AN: Wow! This story is getting much darker than I had anticipated. Reviews get hugs from Mycroft and maybe also Loki.**


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Sorry for the wait.**

**River**

Before long, I find myself completely lost, wandering around London like a blind man. This just makes me feel worse, because John has described to me how I could find my way around London with the smallest effort. 'In the old days' as he terms it.

I find myself walking through the east end, down by what I suppose were once docks. The river oozes muddily past me and I check that no-one can see me before hopping over the flood barrier and sitting down in the flat, muddy plain.

It's cold and getting dark, so barely anyone notices me, why would they? I'm just another stranger. I feel like a stranger in my own body. My own world. Everywhere I go, everyone I have come back to, I have been shown anger. Or pity, which is worse. The policeman's anger is only the start of it, my own brother is permanently exasperated with me. And yet how can he be my brother? I barely recognise him, I have no memories of when we were children, so how can I be sure that he is who he says he is?

But if I start in this vein I will be here for hours. John shows me nothing but hatred and distrust. If he is willing to hurt me, why am I so willing to believe that he was my husband?

My phone bleeps in my pocket and I pull it out.

**From: John**

**You've been gone almost four hours, are you OK?**

I sigh, and debate what to tell him, or whether to just refuse to answer.

_To: John_

_I'm thinking. I'm sorry I made you worry._

**From: John**

**It doesn't matter. Why can't you think at home?**

_To: John_

_That's what I'm thinking about._

There is silence for a few moments and I watch a few people walk past, a woman loaded down with Lidl bags that I automatically know is pregnant, three small children the eldest is about eight and is worried that their mother will be angry if they are home late. I shake my head, angry because I don't want to know these things about these people but I can't turn the ability off. My phone beeps again, and I grind my teeth annoyed at the interruption.

**From: John**

**I don't know what I did to you last night Sherlock, but please come home and tell me. I can't bear to think of you hurting on your own because of me.**

Suddenly, the floodgate seems to open and I get several texts in quick succession.

**From: John**

**I was so angry Sherlock and I just ended up drinking, and I can't remember anything.**

**From: John**

**I know that's an excuse and it's stupid but I would never ever hurt you if I was in my right mind, I swear it.**

**From: John**

**If you can't forgive me then I deserve it, but please just let me know you're safe.**

**From: John**

**I'm sorry, just please let me know you're OK.**

**From: John**

**Please, Baby.**

I stare at the screen of my phone for some time, before making my choice and texting back.

_To: John_

_Come and find me. East end docks._

**An: Sorry for the shortie. It will get more interesting.**


End file.
